


Eyes So Bright

by fell_on_black_days



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, F/M, Heavy Angst, Matricide, Murder, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fell_on_black_days/pseuds/fell_on_black_days
Summary: What if Dante had a kid? What if that kid wasn't found or revealed until after Vergil came back? What if that kid had traumatic backstory to rival both of the twins?Trigger warnings: child abuse, violence against children, traumatic flashbacksNot gonna lie, this is probably the darkest fic I've ever written and is definitely not for readers who are triggered by the above situations. Please practice self care while reading and feel free to take a breather if you need to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the summary, this is some DARK shit. The protagonist is an OC with tons of trauma and issues to work through. I'm writing her in the starts of the post-recovery stage but her trauma will come around to haunt her quite a bit.
> 
> Full disclosure: I have PTSD and have needed to take it easy while writing this. The posting schedule will not be frequent and there may be a new chapter once a month or so. There will be quite a bit of healing and family bonding to hold the protag (and the Sparda boys) together but there will also be a lot of violence and a lot of confrontation when it comes to the protag's trauma.
> 
> If you're looking for more fluff or a fic to use as a cool down I am working on my other title Like Father Like Son in between. It is 50% fluff and paternal Vergil and 50% papa bear Vergil kicking ass for the sake of baby Nero.
> 
> There will be a happy ending to this fic. It's just a long journey to get there.

Her booted heels clicked as she strode across the parquet floor of the cathedral, candlelight flickering over the black glass of her shades. At her feet was a shadowy hound that padded about in sync with her steps. Her presence here had rarely been felt over the last two years and it was rarer still for another person to witness her. Nevertheless, she was not alone that evening. She could sense another presence despite the silence.

“I was warned you may come tonight,” a reedy voice spoke, breaking the calming silence. “What is it I can help you with child?”

She glided to a halt at the sound and spoke without a glance to the elderly matron who had greeted her. “It’s time your order shares a few of its secrets, Sister. What is his name?”

“You are being rash child. You do not know the burden you seek.”

“It is my right Sister. The name? Do not make me ask again.”

The matron sighed as she observed the young woman. Seeing only determination, she relented. “His name, dear child, is Dante.”

* * *

I was raised for killing. To this day it’s all I know, all I’m good at. Never had any family, no mother to cry to, no father to dote on me. At least, not by blood. I was raised in a place few humans dare to tread. It was a place where blood was power and power was _everything_. Submission meant death. Dominance meant always looking over your shoulder. Some walked a tightrope in between, a master on one side, prey on the other.

For years I too played the balancing act. But it’s impossible to maintain your place atop a razor's edge without getting a few scars. I’d been cast out, declared useless, prey. Every moment had been survival. I nearly failed at it. I was forced to choose between my sight and my life and now everything was pitch black.

The Sisterhood had taken me in. A group of grieving mothers who had lost their children to a fate like mine. My mother may have been among them. I may have believed it so, if it weren’t for the blood I could still feel staining my hands. I was truly a monster. Matricide being the least of my sins. At my master’s whim I had murdered dozens. Old, young, sick, hale, innocent and guilty. The children were the worst. At least... they were when I had first begun.

There were others like me when I was brought to my master’s kingdom. A handful of children separated from their mothers near birth. We had been pitted against each other over and over until only one was left standing and unmarred. I was not him.

I was thrown out in the gutter to be taken by whatever found me appealing. With no choice but to stumble blindly through the streets I ran from one alleyway to the next, hell bent on living one more wretched day. And all at once, the Sisters found me.

Bleeding, stumbling along like a wounded animal ready to attack at the first sign of danger, they lead me back to the human world. I couldn’t tell you how they bridged that gap. They fed me, healed me, even gave me a chance to redeem myself despite my crimes. Surely I had killed one of their children? Surely they would rather see me dead? But no, at twenty-three they saw a woman in need of mercy, not a half-breed killer.

I never understood their compassion. I had been taught that kindness was weakness and only swift, merciless violence could hold me together. It was strange, learning new ways to live. The human world had presented itself in a light I had not anticipated. There was still greed, filth, rage. But others existed. Kindness, love, family. I could not comprehend it.

For two years they treated my wounds, both mental and physical. Two years curbing my blood lust, the instincts that I harbored. I learned to read for the first time. Placing my fingers to a page was sublime. Finding new worlds and realities gave me an escape from the remnants of hell my memories granted.

Over the months I learned to fight again. Not to kill, but to protect. I had learned that my eyes may be gone, but my remaining senses were twice as sharp. It was not a flawless system but it beat stumbling along like a lamb to the slaughter.

It did not take long for me to learn the true purpose of the Sisterhood. They had started as a group of women who had had their children taken from them. Each child had been born with devilish heritage. Each one the product of a liaison between hell and humanity. The Sisters found each other slowly at first, then in droves. They started to locate mothers with unborn hybrids and offer them protection. They’d even collected information on the fathers of the children. Convincing them to tell me mine had been… onerous.

But I had succeeded. I had a name and a city. Capulet.

It was strange living outside of the Abbey. My familiar acted as my eyes as we traveled. Through his limited sight I could catch glimpses of the cities I passed through. Some were thriving, others dying. But each was new and came with its own difficulties.

I had suppressed my nature as we walked. My master thought me dead and life was safer that way. Survival was far from assured but I would do anything to even the odds. We arrived in the city near sundown and sought a vacant home or alley to rest in. The food I had taken with me was nearing its end and the things I’d managed to steal were far from substantial. Pairing that with exposure at this time of year could prove fatal.

I could attempt to travel through the night. Find a bar where I might catch my target’s name. But the city had a presence to it. One that fit demons and devils to a T. My companion and I settled in to an old shop before we could attract attention. I had nearly fallen asleep when I heard a shot ring out in the street.

* * *

 

The aging devil hunter swore as another hell caina appeared out of the shadows. Something had attracted them to this part of the city, something other than his dashing good looks and cutting banter. _Only back from hell for a month and these bastards are already popping up_ he thought, grimacing. It wasn’t that Dante disliked the fight. He lived for adrenaline and the sound of steel on demonic flesh. But nothing was as exciting after his twin’s freakish return.

He was starting to feel his age in subtle ways. Slowed reactions, lowered stamina. It annoyed him to no end. Another three demons pulled themselves from the shadows as he reloaded his pistols. He nearly got another shot off when a set of shapes came flying from the building behind him. He barely had time to reach for his blade when the first of them latched its jaws onto one of the demons.

A gigantic black hound had gripped the thing’s head in its jaws and made swift work of it with a single, crushing bite. The other two, however, arguably suffered a worse fate than their packmate. A humanoid figure breezed about, zipping between them with a bright flash of steel and a sickening squelch. One hell caina spouted thick ichor as the other’s weapon dug in to its abdomen, missing the intended target completely. The one left standing shuddered and burst into a black fountain as a gash suddenly appeared, spanning from its midsection to its throat. The screeches from the two were maddeningly high pitched as they crumbled into ash.

Left behind them in the moonlight was a hooded figure of a girl, her features concealed by cloth and shadow. Before she could speak, Dante rushed to get the first word. “Well damn,” he chuckled, “I see someone enjoys a little party.”

The girl froze and turned her head his way as the hound faced him with too-intelligent eyes. The animal looked him up and down in the way a human or one of V’s familiars would, like it was assessing the danger of the person before it. Dante looked back to the girl to comment on the beast’s behavior when she dropped her hood back, revealing silvery hair and glazed over eyes.

“I believe, Mr. Dante, that you and I have something to discuss.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dante watched the girl as she sat on his couch, one hand resting on her dog’s gigantic head. The hound’s eyes followed him about as its mistress assessed his shop in other ways. A light sniff here, a twitch of the head there. Her blindness seemed to barely slow her down as she reclined. Everything about it screamed “demon”. What was worse was the suspiciously familiar proportions of her face. Those mixed with her hair set a nagging dread in the back of Dante’s mind. 

Said locks were woven in a tight braid that reached to her mid back. Flyaways lingered around her cheeks, barely glinting in contrast with her pale skin. If he had to guess, he’d have said her eyes used to be blue, but that was nearly impossible to tell under the cloudy scar tissue that covered them. Odd for someone who smelled so much like a devil to have wounds like that. 

And her scent did reek of hell, albeit faintly, like someone who had been there for years but was on extended leave from whatever plane they crawled out from. She smelled like blood and death and rage and… was that lavender? Fuck if he knew. The only thing he was certain of was that, whoever she was, she was trouble. 

“So kid,” he said, leaning against the wall opposite her. “What d’ya need. You’re obviously good at getting rid of small fry so what can I actually do for you?”

The dog huffed a bit as she replied. “I’m looking for information,” she said with an air of importance. “Unfortunately, you are the only one alive who may have it.” 

A slight chill ran up Dante’s spine as he asked, “And what would that be?”

 

* * *

Nero grumbled under his breath as he stumbled downstairs to pick up the phone. He’d checked the time on the way and was even more irate when he realized it was four in the morning. He let out a growl when he saw the name on the caller ID, “Dante, this had better be good.”

He ripped the phone from its cradle and said, “What is it old man? The boys have school in the morning.”

The older hunter paused before letting out a series of barely understandable whispers, making Nero’s face go pale. “I’ll wake up Dad and Nico. Be there soon.” He placed the phone back in the receiver, hands still shaking. 

 

* * *

Vergil could smell the anxiety rolling off of his son as Nero approached his door. The former king of hell opened it before his son could knock. “Yes, Nero? What is it?”

“It’s Dante,” the young man said. “He’s… I’ve got a cousin.” 

“I… see.” Vergil said, taking in the information. “And this cousin, he -”

“She, actually.” Nero said, feeling numb and dissociated. “She’s at his shop. He says we need to be there. Now.”

“Tell Nicoletta where to meet us. I will make a portal as soon as you’re ready.” 

 

* * *

Perhaps it’s because I was raised in hell, but I’m always amazed with the amount of emotion humans and hybrids show on this plane. One moment they’re stoic and perfectly normal and the next they’re locking themselves in a separate room pretending those outside can’t hear them sob. It’s just so strange. 

Dante had smelled at least faintly of hell. He himself was a hybrid and understood the dangers of that world. But what I had said had upset him on a level I had not prepared for. I had expected my mother’s death to enrage him, yes, but I had not thought him capable of this. The strongest devil hunter known to both worlds and here he was hiding from them. 

The call he had made was somewhat fortuitous. I had not expected other relatives to exist or for one of them to understand the customs I was raised under. The last I had heard, Vergil was dead, twisted into some freakish slave for one of my Master’s former rivals. Had I known he had survived and then escaped from the underworld, I may have tracked him down instead. 

Nero was… a different matter. He was so human it made me uncomfortable. His demonic heritage was there, no doubt about that, but there was something quintessentially human in his reactions and scent. In a way, he was more foreign than any other being I had ever encountered. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, suddenly breaking the rest of us from the silence I prefered. “You don’t have a name because you were raised in hell. You were raised in hell to be some kind of assassin. The thing that raised you, this Asmodeous fuck - “

“Asmodai,” I corrected.

“Asmodai, whatever,” he sighed. “He had this whole troop of kids that were basically your siblings and expected all of you to kill each other to figure out who would serve him best?”

“That is correct.”

I heard the sound of his boot striking the furniture and rested a hand on my hound to soothe him as Nero shouted, “Why the fuck are you so calm about this?”

Before I could answer Vergil broke his silence, “Nero, calm yourself.”

I heard my cousin growl in frustration as he stalked away and turned to face the place I had heard Vergil’s voice. “Have I said something wrong?”

Vergil walked over to the couch I was sitting on and joined me, making sure to stay on the far end. “It is not what you have said, but how you said it. This plane and its denizens are not as harsh or unforgiving as those you are used to. What you see as commonplace, they view as horrific.”

“So he is angry for my sake?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“What I don’t understand is why you do not have a name. Even the underworld has made that its custom.”

I thought for a moment, weighing the options of what I could tell him to explain. “Perhaps it is because I did not serve a purpose. I was of little value to my master unless I could prove myself to him.”

“And you failed to do so when your eyes were injured.”

It was not a question, but I answered it as such. “Yes. Something like that.”


End file.
